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Erotic Death Tales by Hitomi
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                                                 Erotic Death Tales Contents Page                                 "Etain"
Polyxena, Princess of Troy by Hitomi Satomi

(1 )

I remember the day when all these began.
I was nine, and had to rely on someone to hold me up before I could peep over the battlement on the citadel
of Troy.  It must have been one of my brothers, I forgot that part.  Something more dramatic was getting hold
of my attention.
It was a beautiful dawn when the first line of ships broke the horizon. I side-glanced at my father and saw him
gulp down his shock and surprise. There were so many of them, galleons with full sails displaying the
insignia of renowned chiefs: Ithaca, Sparta, Mycenae among many more.  Oars on both sides of the vessels
dipped and rose, adding speed to the menacing crafts of war.  And after the first line, there more, many
“There must be more than a thousand ships!” Some exclaimed.  Heads turned, icy eyes gazed at the
undiplomatic speaker.  Nothing hurt more than such stark truth.
Only Cassandra, my elder sister, remained perfectly still, nodding slowly as she cast her green eyes over
the vast blue waves now littered with ships.  Cassandra was right again, though nobody ever believed her
prophesies until they came to pass.  They said she was both blessed and cursed by her patron god Apollo:
blessed so that she could see into the future, cursed in that she was never taken seriously.
“This will bring war and destruction to Troy!” she had declared in one of her fits on the same day when Paris
brought Helen into the great hall of our palace. Her accusing finger pointed at the new bride of my brother.  
She was also the former queen of Sparta from where she had eloped with my brother.  
They said she was the most beautiful woman in the world.  In a way, I could not demur. Her head with its
tumbling golden fleece, a face so fair, shoulders so slender, bosom so full and proudly erect, a waist that
seemed easily held by two hands, she was in every way everything a man would desire.  But there was more
than physical beauty that made her so special.  Helen was irresistible as she possessed a unique quality
that would arouse the desire of any man to willingly lay down his life to protect her. It was present in every
tiny movement she made: the down-casting of her eyes as if in deep sorrow, the turn of her exquisite neck, a
whisper, a sigh.  The hardest hearts would melt.  Even my father, who had seen so much of the world and
countless beautiful women, was no exception. He should have sent her back.  He was determined to send
her back. Once he looked into her eyes, he knew he could never bear to give that order.  
So, the Greeks came.  Her former husband Menelaus, came. Agememnon., brother of Menelaus, High King
of the Greeks, came. Odyssey of Ithaca, the most cunning of the lot, came. And Achilles, the most feared
leader of the Myrmidons, came.
Hector, my brother and designated heir of my father, later told me that the Greeks would come no matter if
Paris brought back Helen or not.  Agememnon’s ambition to control the trade lanes made war between
Greece and Troy inevitable.  Helen was only his long-waited excuse. That might be true.  Nevertheless, they
came in her name: a face that launched a thousand ships and spilled rivers of blood on our shores.
The first line of ships had neared the shallow coast.  I saw the first of the foes jumped down from the side
and waded ashore, daring others follow him. This Greek slay four of our men, two of them my half-brothers,
before he was struck down.  I later learned that he was called Protesilaus, and he was honored for willingly
be the first to land as an oracle had declared that the first one to do so would be the first to fall.  
I saw the lines came closer and closer: the Greeks surging up the beach and our men rushing down to try
pushing them back into the sea.  I saw men fall, blood spilt, armour of the fallen removed by victors, the
white naked bodies of the victims left on the sand awashed by incoming tides.  All these I saw on a spot so
high, so removed was I from the cries of pain, the horror of deaths that my eyes were drawn towards the play
of slaughter down below.  
“Take her back to the palace.  It is no scene suitable for a young girl.” Priam, my father roared.  
Against my will I was pulled back from the battlements and hushed back to the security of my chamber.  
“Do not worry, my child.  It would soon be over. Hector will drive them back into the sea,” my mother
whispered into my ear.
But she was wrong.
It was not over, not for a long while.
For the next nine years, Troy was under siege. There were countless battles in which more people died,
among them many I held dear.  Forever my life was changed.  The leisure of quiet summer evenings filled
with sweet songs were gone, replaced by the sound of battle-drums and trumpets, cries declaring victories
or moans of despair at set-backs. Smoke columns rivaled the height of our tall towers: smoke from burning
ships and pyres cremating the dead.
Hercuba, my mother, taught us how to uphold our courage and dignity even in face of great sadness and
loss.  And great losses there had been.  She had lost many of her sons, my brothers.  I often disappointed
her, for it was not in my nature to act stoic in face of grief. Although I tried hard to kept back my tears, they
would seep out each time a close one failed to return.
War, had become more than stage-plays from afar. Somewhere along these nine years, my childish
innocence died. In the midst of war, a princess metaphored from a carefree larvae to butterfly, always on the
alert of sudden perils, or ill-tidings. My parents were kind to us, I especially as I was their youngest, a girl,
and one with exceptional beauty, so they told me.  With such love they had tried to shield me from the
bloodshed just outside our gates.  But you could never shut out sufferings like that, not of this magnitude,
not for so many years long.
I had wished to be born a male, a prince-warrior who could put up a bronze armour and take share in the
battle-line, fighting for our people and if necessary, fall heroically, like so many of my kin.  But this was not to
be.  I was too weak to bear arms and could hardly have the strength to draw a bow.  I could ride though.  
After all, I am a sister of Hector, the tamer of horses.
I watched.  I learned.  I grew.
I am Polyxena, daughter of Priam, princess of Troy.


It was impossible to fight on every single day for nine years.  
Should that be the case, there would not be enough warriors from either side to be slain  Fierce battles were
inter-spaced by quieter days of stand-offs, games on special occasions such as divine days of certain gods
or goddesses, and even feasts when an ally from afar would join us.  
The confidence that we would prevail was always there.  The walls of Troy were high and reputedly could not
be breached. We had so many allies who were no friends of the Greeks.  And if friendship might not be a
strong reason to bring our allies to fight on our side. there was an abundance of gold in my father’s coffer  
For Troy was rich, its riches the result of three generations of trade, the city sited in a commanding position
at the throat of caravan routes. Copper and tin mines brought us further wealth and Greece armor would be
hard to make without our supply of tin.  Perhaps this was a more important reason to have brought the
thousand ships.  Agememnon knew: if Troy stands, Greece will always remain in a shadow.
Year after year the war dragged on with neither side coming out as victor.  The stalemate was proving
insufferable for both sides and there had been more than one occasion that a more straight-forward way
was proposed to end the war.  Personal duels between Paris, the wrong-doer and Menelaus, the wronged
were arranged with Helen as trophy.  But Paris was no fighter and instead of fighting to the bitter end, he
chose to flee, relying on his light of feet to outrun his rival.  Indignant at the cowardice of his brother and yet
not cruel enough to force the latter to be slaughtered in single combat, Hector intervened and a personal
duel degenerated into general melee. More blood, more deaths.  Further stalemate.
I would not repeat how it came about that Achilles, the most fearsome of the enemy warriors withdrew from
the fight, over the quarrel with Agememnon, how his friend  and rumored lover Patroclus was slain by Hector
who had mistaken him for Achilles and once realizing the error, had stripped the fallen Patroclus of the
armor which had been lent him by his lover-friend. All these I did not personally witnessed as I was ordered
by my mother to stay inside the palace.  
I only joined the conflict in person when Hector, the bastion of Troy, fell under the spear of his born-rival as
a warrior outside the Scaean Gates.
The wailing of the entire city at the sight of Hector falling onto the dust shook the foundation of Troy at its
very roots. My mother could no longer put up her stoic façade as she tore her buxom attire to express her
despair.  Together with Cassandra and I, we rushed up the ramparts and joined the wailing Andromache,
holding tight the baby infant Astyanax.
I looked over the battlement and saw my brother lying spread-eagle just more than an arrow’s flight from the
walls, his magnificent armor being stripped by the victor. In naked death, Hector still looked so worthy of the
mightiest Trojan warrior. Even from the great distance, I could see the white of his eyes which had stayed
open, as if pleading one last look at his beloved wife Andromache and Astyanax, their off-spring. His torso
was so white with battle-scars here and there that he had gathered over the years of fighting. We could see
the patch of crimson red over his chest, the point of entry by the blade of his opponent that took his life.  
The weapon had since been withdrawn.  Achilles was now busy tying the feet of my brother together.  The
whole city looked in horror as the body of our prince was towed behind the chariot of the victor, slowly at first
before gaining speed as Achilles whipped his horses into gallop.  Three times round the city of Troy he went,
the dead body of Hector trailed and bumped over rocks and sand, leaving streams of red in its path.
“No! Mercy!” My mother shouted over the walls.
My father, for the first time of his life, wept before me.
Andromache held her head with her hands in despair, Helen now having taken over the child who cried
without knowing the reason for the clamor around him.
I did not cry.
If my sight could be turned into poisoned arrows, I would pray to Apollo to grant me the power to strike down
the slayer of my brother, at the price of turning me blind ever after.  What was the use of sight now that the
pride of Troy was destroyed?  
I hated him.  I would hate him as long as I live.
“I will kill him.” I whispered.
A hand landed on my shoulder.  It belonged to Cassandra.
“You will bring about his death.  And then, he will bring about yours.” She said.
I turned towards her, not fully comprehending.  When I swore, it was made out of spite.  How could I kill him
when I was not even a warrior?  Even if I were trained in the arts of war, what chance could I have when even
Hector failed?  And how could he bring about my death when he was dead himself?  I believed not in the
vengeance sought by ghosts. But even if I did, nothing would stop me from taking his life.  I swore this over
the blood of my brother.  
And then he stopped the chariot, just in front of the walls, directly facing the point where we stood.  As if
showing off his vanity, he removed his helmet and shook loose his mane of golden hair.  Our eyes met, even
in that great distance, and I felt a coldness down my spine.  
There was something in those eyes that nobody really noticed.
I did.
It was something we had in common.
It was loneliness.


My father, King Priam, went to the camp of Achilles to beg for the return of my brother’s mutilated corpse.
He finally agreed to this at a ransom.
The sum was staggering.
“If you do not have sufficient gold to satisfy my demand, you can throw in your youngest daughter, Polyxena
I believe her name is, to fill the gap,” he had said

“You are not certainly going!” My mother was adamant.
“Why?  You are a princess! What do you think he wants to do with you?”
I looked into her eyes calmly and replied, “if my father, the King can risk his safety to go to the camp of the
slayer of his son, why can I not do something to bring back the body of my brother?  A king is the head of
the realm.  Why do you hesitate to offer an arm if you face the possible loss of the head?”
My mother was taken aback, both by my reasoning and my unprecedented rebellion.
Paris tried to talk me out of it too but I had made up my mind.

I hauled myself up the cart that was laden with gold artifices from the diminishing coffer. I heard weeping
behind my back. I did not turn my head.  
The Myrmidons sent a squad of six to act as my escort.  But there was no threat of my security. It would be a
very foolish man to try interception what was about to be Achilles’s.
“I have come for my brother, as you demanded.”  For the first time I was standing this close to him.  I could
see him clearer now, a not bad-looking face, the high bridge nose, a mouth that curved downwards most of
the time, giving an impression of perpetual sadness and the pale blue lonely eyes.
“You are indeed brave, Polyxena.  Are you not aware what can happen to you alone in my camp?”
“I care not for myself but that you will keep your bargain, now that the gold and the daughter of Priam is
here, as you demanded.”
He  laughed.  “I will keep my promise. Your father will return with what remains of your brother to Troy at
dawn.  You, must stay for three nights here, as I told them.”
I lowered my head and acquiesced
“Enter my tent.” He ordered.
I followed him.  
The tent was more spacious than I thought though Spartan.
There was another girl inside.
I nodded.  So, this was the girl who was the cause of quarrel between Achilles and his High King, which
sparked off the series of killings, ending in Hector’s.
“She is pretty.  Why do you still want me?” I asked.
Achillese threw a glance in the direction of the girl.  “You are different,” he said after a while.
I could tell the girl was hurt.  She must be in love with him very much.
“We will drink first.  Girl, bring us wine.”
Briseis did as she was told.  There was no resentment in her eyes, just resignation.  I felt pity for her.
She left after preparing the wine.
We drank in silence.  I could feel my heart beating very fast, knowing what would follow.
He must have seen through me.  He chuckled.
“Do you intend to put an end to the life of someone who had killed your brother?”
I blushed.  Such though had crossed my mind.  The prophecy of Cassandra had fueled it.  But I had quickly
dismissed it.  It would be a sacrilege to act as assassin when I came under truce.  Moreover, my chance of
success would be minimal.
“How can I, a woman, hurt the great Achilles?” I asked not without a tint of sarcasm.
“Why not?  I am mortal, though they said my mother is a goddess.” He picked up the knife on a plate of cut
meat and placed it in my hand.  
We saw each other eye to eye.  I could not say the temptation did not exist.  A plunge into his chest and
He laughed and took the knife away. “Even if you decided to do it, you should aim here instead.” He pointed
the blade towards his heel.
I was puzzled.
“That, would be my most vulnerable spot.”
“I cannot understand.”
“When I was born,” he explained “my mother Thetis tried to make me immortal by dipping me in the river Styx
which would provide divine protection all over my body, except here, where she held me.”
“Why do you tell me this?”
“”To see if I can trust you.  You are the only person who knows my secret.  You have the power to betray
me, if you want to.”
A shock went down my spine.  Was it this Cassandra prophesied about? If I told about his most vulnerable,
there would be a chance that our warriors could put it to use. Though, of course, it would be very unlikely if
anyone could come close enough to put a weapon on such tiny spot.
“You can kill me instead.  A dead girl tells no tale.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “I have never killed a woman, though a young maiden had died once
because of me, Agamemnon’s daughter.  She was sacrificed to the goddess Artemis to appease her so that
our army could set sail.  The poor girl was tricked to believe she was going to be my bride.”
“Cruel father.”
“Perhaps. How old are you?”
“Agh, same age as my son.”
“You have a son?”
“Yes, back in my home kingdom.  His name is Neoptolemus.”
We sat in silence for a while.
It was I who broke the silence.
“I am your demanded ransom. Do you want me?”
This time he did not laugh.
Instead, he helped me up, untied the knot that kept my chiton in place.  The flimsy garment fell to the floor
and I stood naked before him.
“You are truly beautiful.  Are you a virgin?”
I nodded.
Had there been no war, my father might have given my hand to a suitable suitor, a prince or even a king
He put his hands on my bared breasts, cupping the nipples on the crests gently.
I had thought he would be more violent.
He pulled me towards him as he freed his loincloth. Our lips sealed in a deep kiss.  It was the first kiss for me
apart from my parents and siblings.  I struggled a little but his left hand was around my waist while the other
was caressing me again.  I melted into his arms and he carried me over to his bed.  I half closed my eyes
and he spread wide my legs and mounted me.  His manhood was as hard as his spear in battle and I uttered
a cry of pain as he penetrated me.  
“Fear not, my little flower.  I am only a beast in the killing fields.”
He spoke the truth.  I had never thought love-making could be so pleasurable, not with someone who had
just slain my own beloved brother.
He rode me and drove me to a state of happiness I never knew existed. I pulled his head towards my
breasts, inducing him to suck at my nipples.  When he finally deflowered me, I moaned, as a woman, his
He kept me for three days and we had each other over and over again.
By the end of the agreed period of captivity, I was laden with sadness to go.
“Promise me you will not harm my kin.”
He smiled and stroke my face.  “That can never be.  I am a warrior and the fate of warriors was to fight, or
die on the battlefield.  When we prevail, I will take you as my bride.”
“You will not prevail.” I said. The words f Cassandra suddenly rang inside my head.  By instinct, I felt he
would not survive the war.
“Whatever,” he replied. “Now you must go.  Farewell my little lark,, till our paths cross again.”


I returned to Troy and was just in time to attend the funeral games of Hector, the tamer of horses.

The war continued. Prince Aeneas of the Dardania line, took over the command of the army.  He had
married my sister Creusa. He was the best we had.

More allies came, among them, Penthesilea, the Queen of the Amazons.  She led a contingent of a
thousand women warriors, all young and pretty to Troy.  The spirit if the city was revitalized by the arrival of
some many pretty maidens but they all lost color when their queen appeared.  Of all the women I met in my
life, Helen was by far the most beautiful, followed closely by my sister Lardonia who had married afar.  
Cassandra was a beauty in her own right, at least when she was sober. But Penthesilea was a different
breed.  She was radiant. Clad in the Amazon-style light armor of bronze breast-plates, a white tunic and
short riding skirts, the Amazon queen outshone all others around her.  Perhaps Helen could better her in
some way but the former queen of Sparta was everything opposite to the warrior queen, being feminine to
the extreme as Penthesilea was a tower of boldness and strength, without weakening her attractiveness as a
woman.  She had made the explicit declaration that she came here to fight Achilles, as a atonement for
having accidentally killed her own sister in a hunt.
“Stupid woman, “Andromache spoke behind her. “What can she do when even Hector had failed?  She
would be food for birds when Achilles finished with her.”
Cassandra uttered a laugh which sounded almost like a hiss. “She is a daughter of .Ares. If any woman can
kill him in battle, it will be her.”
I turned to face my sister. “But you said…”
She stopped me in my mid-sentence. “There are more than one way to fulfill the will of the gods.” Without
waiting for an answer, she reeled and left us.
I stared at Penthesilea and found her staring at me too.
“So you are Polyxena, the princess who is worth her weight in gold.”
I bowed my head.  I had wanted to hate her, as a potential foe against Achilles.  But I discovered I could not.
She was too beautiful to be hated by anyone.
“Tell me. Is there anything you came to know about him that you like to share?”
“I do not know what you mean, my lady.”
She threw back her head and laugh and it reminded me of Achilles, doing the same move in his tent.
“Never mind, pretty one.” Then she brought her face close and whispered into my ear. “If I were not into
battle when dawn comes, I will certainly ask for your father to let you spend a night in my tent.  We can talk
and do something else, woman to woman.”
I blushed at her honeyed voice, the wordings full of ambiguous flirting.
“I would be honored.” I replied.
“Very well, pretty one.  Let us wait until the victory feast, on my return.”
With that, she left me standing in the hallway.

I could not sleep throughout the night.
The possibility of Achilles falling before the Amazon queen was too much to bear.  Yet I also do not wish
Penthesilea slain.  
I knew I hold the key in my hand.  If I told her about the secret of his heel, she might get the better of him.  In
this case, the prophecy of my bringing him to his death, and the possibility of the Amazon Queen slaying the
greatest Greek warrior would also be fulfilled.  
If I kept my silence, then the chance of her being vanquished would be great. Skillful as she might be, how
could she slay an opponent whose body was impregnable, except at the heels.

I heard the sound of horns at the break of dawn.
I rushed to the queen’s chamber but found she was gone.  There was another set of armor at the side
though and without much thinking, I put this on.  It fit.  I placed a cap helmet on my head and made for the
Sacean Gates where they would form up to go outside, offering battle.
No one suspected an amazon to be a princess of Troy.
The main force had already moved down onto the plain. I sped up and joined the rank of the third line.  Two
female warriors turned their heads and took a look at me but said nothing.
“Ready to charge!” An order barked out.
We put our horses into a canter.
In a rush, I had forgotten to take up any weapon apart from a crescent shape shield.  Nor could I use it if I
did.  Without any weapon, I would be most vulnerable.
“If I am to be slain, so be it.” I said to myself. “Perhaps it will be him who will spear me through.”
Priam and mother would be in deep grief if they found me dead but it was too late to turn back now.
We raced towards the ships.  I could see Penthesilea leading her warriors crashing through the first line of
defense put up by the Greeks.  Though I knew not how to wield a double-edge axe, the standard Amazon
weapon, I was an exceptional good rider, having being trained personally by Hector.  I caught up with the
second rank and then the leading one and found myself riding just a little behind the Amazon queen.
If she was surprised at my presence, she said nothing.
There was no time for distraction as more Greeks were rushing to fill the gap of their lines.  
We breached the second line and torched the ships.  Actually, it was they who did it as I would not do
anything to put Achilles in danger, no matter how small a chance that would be.
Then I heard the battle cries of the Myrmidons.
There came Achilles on his chariot, leading his men into the thick of battle.
“Watch me, little one!” The Queen smiled and said.  So, she did know I was here.
She rode head on. Just as I was to follow, my mount reared up and neighed. To my horror, I found a shaft
buried in his side as he came crashing down. I attempted to jump off but was too late.  My left leg was pinned
under the dead animal.  I thought my leg must have broken but later found I could inch away from the weight
and so must have avoiding being disabled.  Still, it was most precarious as the fighting was going on all
around me and any foe who noticed me could just come over and slit my throat.  
In the pinned position I watched the battle developed.  
Many Greeks were killed. But the Amazons got fewer in number too.
I saw one of them, a young girl being beheaded on her saddle, another one dragged down from her horse,
her armor in disarray as she tumbled to the ground.  She managed to recover to a kneeling position but
seeing her position hopeless, she bared her left breast for an advancing Greek who buried his spear into
her bosom.. She was immediately avenged by one of her sisters-in-arms but this brave woman was in turn
slain, a double-edge axe hacked into the cleft between her breasts.  She fell off her saddle and was
beheaded once she hit ground.
I was still unable to free my leg when a Greek discovered me as his prey and moved towards me with drawn
sword.  I felt cold sweat running down my back as there was no way I could defend myself.  But he never
reached me as a flying axe cut into his forehead and he dropped dead less than a few steps from me.  I
turned and saw the Amazon queen gleam.
Then I saw something else.  It was Achilles!
“Behind you!” I shouted.
Penthesilea turned and was just quick enough to assume her poise to do battle.
The daughter of Ares was a great match for the mighty warrior.  
“If there is any woman who can kill him, it will be her.” Cassandra had said.
She was right, almost.
Thrice her spear had found a gap in his defense and sliced at his skin.  It drew blood but was unable to
cause any mortal wound.  In the third attempt, the shaft of her spear broke.  She threw it aside and made for
the short sword at her side.  Achilles did not give her any chance.  A mighty thrust of his spear and the
Amazon queen gave a cry of defeat and fell from her mount.  She managed to stand, still intending to offer a
final fight.  But her opponent was faster and lost no time to bury his own sword into her left breast. She
looked up to him as her body slowly slid to a kneeling position.  He twisted his sword a bit and the pain was
finally too much for her.  The warrior queen gasped and fell back.  I saw him approach, a very different
Achilles from the one I knew in the tent.  As he said, he was a beast and a killing tool in battle.
He did not notice me.
While his followers continued to slay other Amazons, he bent down and stripped the armor off the fallen
queen until she was lying there stark naked before his eyes.  The torso, though in death, was enchanting. I
saw him kneel before the beautiful corpse, weeping in remorse.  Then, he mounted her.  I could not believe
my eyes; he was raping her corpse in full view of foes and friends!
When he had finished, he stood up and looked at the soiled body once again.  Another Greek came up, one
who was so despicably ugly.  He made some rude remarks and the next moment, Achilles raised his clout
and knocked on the face of the ugly man. I had to put my hand over my mouth as I saw all his teeth had
been knocked off his mouth!  I knew the man was dead instantly.
Driven into a fury, Achilles tied the feel of the naked queen with a rope and fastened the other end to the
rear of his chariot.  I knew he was doing the same thing he had done to Hector to Penthesilea  Her body was
towed across the plain and headed for the muddy River Salamander, where I presumed would be the
unroyal grave of the brave queen.
I fell back in exhaustion and despair.  If any foe would come near, I would arch my neck and offer my throat
to be cut.  But it was not to be.  The battle was over and the enemy was gathering trophies.  Fallen Amazons
had their armor stripped off.  Those few who were captured wounded had their throats cut.  Two fell on the
tips of swords to avoid becoming prisoner.  Sooner or later, the Greeks might discover me and either had
me slain or taken back as slaves.  Would they do to me what Achilles had done to Penthesilea, if they
decided to kill me?
I never had the answer.  A rain set upon the plain and the Greeks, after making a hasty check of the fallen,
retreated back to their camp.  After a while, a detachment of Amazons who survived the battle found me and
dragged me out from under the dead horse.
“I know you, you are the Trojan princess, Polyxena. Go back to your city.” The leader of the survivors said.
“What about you?”I asked.
They did not answer, put me on the back on one of their horses and gave the backside a snap.
As the horse carried me back towards the city, I heard thudding sounds.  I turned my head in time to see all
of them plunging their daggers into each other’s hearts.
So the entire force brought by Penthesilea perished on the Trojan plain.


I had a high fever for three days.  I almost died.
But Hades would not have me yet and being young, I recovered fast.
In my sick bed, I heard things.  The whole city lost heart after the defeat of the Amazons.  They had tried to
recover the body of the Amazon Queen in vain, the Salamander River was so muddy that it was not possible
to reclaim any naked torso dumped in it without arousing the attention of the nearby Greeks.  So, they held
a funeral in her honor and burned her armor instead.
I grieved for her.
It was a terrible death.  Being slain in battle was one thing, being disgraced and raped by her killer was
entirely different.  She deserved better, I thought.  It was later that I found out why Achilles acted like that.
“He was trying to claim her as his own, even in death.  He liked her. “Helen explained.
“Then why did he dumped her body into the mud?”
“After his copulating with her, it was just a corpse.  And he had to show other Greeks that he was no sissy.”
So, it was not that sad an end for Penthesilea, though I still believed she would prefer me in her bed than my
Yes, MY Achilles.
Though I had seen his beastly side, I now knew I was in love with him.
I did not hate him anymore, nor am I jealous.
It was his nature to love all beautiful things in life, or even in death.
His lust for Penthesilea would not diminish my place in his heart.
I also came to understand that even Hector would not hate him.  They had a fair fight, as warriors, as
equals.  My brother lost. Had he won, he would have given the slain opponent the same treatment as he had
Of course I did not disclose this to anyone as it was not for everyone to cross the line in the midst of
slaughter, to love both friends and foes.
Something still troubled me.  Why did my sister foretell I being the instrument of death for my beloved?
I would not do anything to hurt him, even on pains of death.
I learned it soon enough, in a way I never suspected.
One evening I found a letter under my silk pillow.  
It began by calling me “his little lark”.  That was his last address to me. I had told no one about it.  So, it was
from him.
He asked me to meet him at dawn near the shrine of Apollo outside the city.
I went as asked and found him there.
We embraced.
“What is it that you call me here, my love?” He asked,
I was startled.
“Wasn’t it you who wanted to meet me here? I had your letter.”
“And I, yours.”
At once, we knew it was a trap!
“Run! Achilles!” I shouted.
But it was too late.
Paris with three other archers had drawn their bows.
“Step aside, Polyxena!” Paris shouted.
In panic, I wanted to protect Achilles and flung myself at his feet, covering his most vulnerable spot.  I
thought if I had it covered, Achilles would not be hurt.
But I misjudged.
Paris, seeing my sudden movement was angered and in a rage, let go the notched arrow straight at my
back.  I should have been killed.  I was glad to die for him.
But Achilles did not share my thought.  He pushed me aside just in time, and the arrow sank deep into his
I screamed in terror.  
Paris rushed over with drawn dagger to finish off the wounded warrior.  But voices were heard, more Greeks
were coming.  Paris dragged me away from the mortally wounded Achilles.  I screamed and kicked but to no
avail.  The last thing I saw was Briseis kneeling by the side of the dead Achilles and plunged her dagger into
her own heart.
So, it was her who betrayed us.  She was the only one present when we spoke farewell and heard Achilles
called my his little lark.  
No, I hated her not.  She had no intention to hurt her love.  The real murderer was fate whom no one, not
even the greatest warrior ever alive, could escape.


I was lost after his death.
Cassandra was the only one who could comfort me.
“Grieve not, my sister.  The end is near. You are the lucky one.  We will see Troy no more but you alone will
never leave.”
Another riddle.
I could not understand what it meant, nor did I again care.
It came soon enough.
Paris was killed, shot.  An archer died through another arrow.
Then the drama on the deserted beach, of the Great ominous wooden horse, the argument and the counter-
argument, of another of Cassandra’s futile warning.  The die was cast.  The horse was moved inside our city.
They came back at night, when most of the men were asleep with drunk. A latch on the wooden horse was
set down and the sack of the city began.
I woke to the sound of slaughter, no longer frightened, knowing it was meant to be.
When I found the body of Priam, I wept.  But at least it was a quick death and he was advance in age. Better
death than suffer the humility of servitude.  He was a king.
Astyanaz , the infant son of my brother Hector, was flung from the tower of Troy onto the rocks. Her mother
Andromache as were Hercuba, and Cassandra and many other royal women were takn captives. The sight
of Cassandra was most sorrowful,  Her priestess robe was torn and her shoulders and one of her breasts
were bare, evidence of her being ravished in the very temple of Apollo.  The man responsible, Ajax the
lesser, met a dire end, some said at the wrath of the gods, drowned.  Cassandra walked like lifeless,
muttering “the axe is sharp. It falls once.  It will fall again.” I prefer not to know what she refers to.
Neoptolemus approached me. He looked like his father, only younger.  But it was only in appearance, he did
not have his father’s noble spirit inside him.
“I claim you.” He pointed at me.
“What for? To ravish what your father had claimed as his own? Do you not have shame?” I confronted him.
He was red with anger and left.
I knew it would not be the end of it,
Hours later, Odyssey came in and looked at it with his sad eyes.
“Polyxena.  Neoptolemus had claimed that his father’s ghost demanded you o be sacrificed at his grave, or
the army would never be able to depart.”
I chuckled.  It was all lies.  How could Achilles, who regret so much the sacrifice of Iphigenia, the daughter of
Agamemnon prior the departure of the Greek army ten years ago, demanded another sacrifice?
But I would not refute it.  It was a fitting end for me.
“You will bring about his death.  After that, he will bring about yours.” Cassandra had foretold my fate.  Now I
understood its meaning.
I had caused his death in the very act to protect him and now I was to be sacrificed on his tomb.
“You will never leave Troy.” Cassandra had also said  And once again, she was right.
I bade farewell to my mother and sister, to Helen too and followed Odyssey for the tomb of my beloved
Neoptolemus was already waiting, as were a multitude of Greek warriors.
His son was to act as the one who would offer the sacrifice.
I was led to him who turned me to face the crowd.  With one snatch, he disrobed me, baring my upper torso
before the eyes of all.  He had intended it to be a humiliation, a vengeance for his having been rejected.  I
stood proud and firm.
“My father would be most pleased.” He said, his eyes wandering lustfully over my bared breasts.
I did not give him any satisfaction in reply.
He turned me sideways, so that the left side of me was facing the pile of rocks that was his father’s tomb.  
I saw a sacrificial dagger being put in his hand.  It was a long one, at least nine or ten hands, thicker than my
slender neck.  He put the point against my neck, the half that faced the spectators.  
I knew what would follow.  He would plunge it in up to the hilt, the point would transverse my whole neck,
coming out from the other side.  Before I black out from the sharp pain, he would withdraw the blade a little
but without pulling it all out.  In this way, my blood would only shoot out from the wound on the left side of my
neck, drenching the pile of rocks.  When they had had enough drink of my blood, he would finally pull out
the instrument of death and let my body collapse at the foot of the make-shift altar. There, he would finally
snatch away the clinging robe around my waist, rendering me completely naked.  A pyre would be built near
by and my body would be cremated, its ashes showered upon the tomb.
I was not afraid any more.  I knew not what awaited me after death.  No one ever return from the realm of
Hades.  But I hope the gods are merciful to Achilles and I.
I expect him to greet me from the other side of the Styx. May be Briseis would be beside him, her atonement
through suicide cleansing her guilt and earn her a place beside him.  I would love that.  Perhaps Penthesilea
would be there too, and she would smile and wink to suggest a completion of our bedding.  No matter what, I
would enjoy peace in my native land, the land that had been reduced to burnt down towers and walls. It did
not matter.  In my eyes, its ruins would always be the most treasured site.
I heaved, taking in the fresh night air one more time.
“Are you ready?” The son of Achilles demanded.
I nodded.


Copyright Hitomi Satomi
Please do not reprint without permission from the author
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Comment from: Chris B.
Date: October 2, 2011

Welcome to Chris' Corner! Your stories are so well done and really drive the senses and
ignite the fire down below. I am honored to have your art on our website. I truly
appreciate your service. Thanks again! Chris Brown

Comment from: Othello
Date: October 2, 2011

Hitomi, this tale has so many of the unforgettable hallmarks of your writing. Impeccable,
detailed research which takes the reader deep into the time and place you are
portraying; intense and dark passions; powerful, emotional scenes of struggle and death.

I've always been fascinated by the part of the Iliad that deals with the battle between
Achilles and Penthesilea, the Amazon Queen. That after their fierce fight he would be
impelled to strip off her armor and mount her corpse there on the battlefield is, needless
to say, one of the most intense sexual moments in classical history/myth.  

Your narrative is exciting and compelling. Once I began, I could not stop reading.
Polyxena was beautifully portrayed in all her courage and pathos. Splendidly done.

Comment from: Chris B.
Date: October 2, 2011

I am with you on this one Othello. I could not stop and had to quickly go to the next story.
It aroused every part of my fantasy sense! Thanks again for your works Hitomi.



Comment from: Grace X
Date: October 2, 2011

Wow, this is really something, Hitomi. I liked the movie about Troy with Brad Pitt, but
omigod I would have LOVED it if the elements you have in your story had been in there.
Hollywood should take a lesson from you, girl.


Comment from: Hitomi
Date: October 5, 2011

Thanks Chris, Othello and Grace.

I am so glad you like my stories.  Hopefully, I will bring up more in the future.

I do appreciate frank comments, no matter positive or negative as these are the most
precious gift to a writer.

Once again, thanks.

Comment from: Nastassja
Date: October 8, 2011

Hello Hitomi. I'm a reader of Othello's books in his mainstream incarnation, and he sent
me a link to here, telling me I would love your work. I must say, he was right. I love to
read erotica, but to be honest, I find most of what's out there crude and formulaic. When
I find I story or novel written with sophistication, heart and elegance along with the sex
(and I admit, I enjoy sexy fantasy violence as well), then I consider it a treasure. This
story is classical and beautiful, as well as darkly sexual. I loved it, and will be back to
read more of your writings. The one comment I might have regarding your style is that
the vernacular sometimes seemed awkward -- but I gather from Othello that you are from
Hong Kong, and perhaps this is a Chinese-to-English translation issue. In a way it worked
with this historical piece, as it made the language feel formal at times. Not sure if I would
even encourage you to change it! It gives you a unique voice.

Comment from: Satomi Hitomi
Date: October 14, 2011

Thanks Natassja,

I am from Hong Kong and  though I tried very hard to keep up a reasonable standard of
English, my mother tongue is still Chinese and I understand there is a difference
between a native speaker's English and one who speaks and writes it as a second
language.  But thanks for your frank opinion.  I will take more notice of that (or get a
good editor) Haha...

Do give me more of your opinion as we go along.  There is no better gift to a writer who is
serious about her writing than the honest opinion from readers (including positive and
negative comments).

Thanks and kisses

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